


the lights, the signs, the time just right

by knoxoursavior



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe - Roommates/Housemates, Canon Compliant, College, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-02
Updated: 2021-02-02
Packaged: 2021-03-13 14:00:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,253
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29154714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/knoxoursavior/pseuds/knoxoursavior
Summary: Practice ends, and like always, Kiyoomi finds Kuroo waiting for him outside.
Relationships: Kuroo Tetsurou/Sakusa Kiyoomi
Kudos: 27





	the lights, the signs, the time just right

**Author's Note:**

> inspired by sakuroo day 1 prompt which was college au + roommates! written for drue 🥺 thank u again aaa

i.

Practice ends, and like always, Kiyoomi finds Kuroo waiting for him outside. He's standing by the gym doors—jacket wrapped around his waist and his backpack on the ground, between his feet.

Kiyoomi heads towards him, waving goodbye to his teammates as he does.

“You really shouldn't put your bag on the ground,” he says, bending down to take the backpack from the ground. He brushes off the dirt at the bottom before he hands it off to Kuroo, who thanks him with a dollop of hand sanitizer squeezed onto his waiting palms.

“It was heavy. I already have enough back problems slouching over for so long when I study.”

Kiyoomi sighs. “Stop studying in the library then. You have a perfectly good desk at home.”

A very  _ troublesome _ desk, Kiyoomi doesn't say. A desk that Kiyoomi had to assemble by himself because as smart as Kuroo is, he's awful at reading instructions, even worse at following them. And now, it barely gets any use besides the times when the library is closed.

But Kuroo only shrugs.

“I like the library. And I like walking home with you,” he says, smiling.

It’s the same smile of his that usually makes Kiyoomi have to look away, but he doesn't this time. Instead, he purses his lips into a flat line and clenches his fists at his sides. And then, deadpan, “Ha ha.”

Kuroo's eyebrows furrow, his lips twisting into a frown. “It's not a joke, you know.”

“Sure,” Kiyoomi says, because he's tired and he's stubborn and he's never known what to do with some of the things Kuroo tells him. He turns away, starts walking. He looks over his shoulder at Kuroo, “Let's go then, if you like walking home with me so much.”

Kuroo wraps an arm around his shoulders when he catches up with him, and Kiyoomi lets him.

  
  


ii.

On Saturday mornings, Kiyoomi wakes up at six in the morning and jogs around the neighborhood. His route is tried and tested, built on his two years of staying here in their apartment. He runs a few blocks, doubles back, and stops by a 24-hour cafe on the first floor of their building to buy coffee and breakfast for the both of them.

And then he comes home to see Kuroo sprawled on his bed, taking a nap, cheek pressed to his pillow, his blanket barely covering half a leg, hair still wet from a shower he must have taken while Kiyoomi was gone. He’s already dressed to go out, in a university hoodie he was wearing the first day he and Kiyoomi met as roommates. It’s already frayed in places, thinner at the hems where Kuroo fidgets with the fabric, but it’s soft to the touch when Kiyoomi curls a hand around Kuroo’s shoulder, shaking him gently.

“Kuroo. Wake up.” He doesn’t respond, so Kiyoomi shakes him again. “Come on. I got coffee for you.”

This time, Kuroo opens one eye, squinting up at Kiyoomi for a moment before he turns to press his face into his pillow.

“Don’t wanna,” he says. The words are muffled, but Kiyoomi has enough experience waking Kuroo up to figure it out.

Kiyoomi slides his hand down Kuroo’s arm, squeezing. “You said you have to work on your paper today.”

Usually, Kuroo would get up at this point. He already has anyway, long enough to take a shower and get dressed. But instead, he groans into his pillow. Long and loud, almost a scream. Enough to make Kiyoomi pause.

He sits down on the bed, unsure of himself. But he pushes on, and then, tentative, “Kuroo?”

A beat passes, and another. And then Kuroo reaches for his wrist, tugs as he looks up at Kiyoomi.

“Lie down with me for a while?” he says, and Kiyoomi doesn’t let himself think about it. Just follows when Kuroo tugs at his wrist again and lies down beside him.

He doesn’t know where to look suddenly, with Kuroo so close. Doesn’t know where to place his hands, or if he’s even lying down the right way. But Kuroo’s still holding onto him, and Kuroo’s still looking at him with bags under his eyes, and Kiyoomi still wants to close the space between them and wrap him in his arms.

He doesn’t though.

“Are you okay?” he asks instead.

Kuroo sighs, and instead of answering, he tightens his grip around Kiyoomi’s wrist. Instead, “Can I hug you?”

Kiyoomi doesn’t hesitate to wrap his arms around Kuroo, tucking his head under his chin so he feels Kuroo’s breath against his neck. His hands find their places, pressed against the back of Kuroo’s neck, the small of his back, and then he waits, hoping that he’s doing this right, that he’s  _ holding _ Kuroo right.

Kuroo squeezes his arms around him, and Kiyoomi does the same, matching him until he lets up, breathing out another sigh into the dip of Kiyoomi’s collarbone.

“I shouldn’t have lied down again after showering,” he says. “I remembered how tired I was.”

Kiyoomi hums. “At least you got a bit more rest.”

“Yeah. It’s just been a hard week.”

Kiyoomi’s eyebrows knit together, his lips twisting into a frown. He feels something rotten unfurl in his stomach, and he lets it. Still, he keeps it out of his fingertips, his skin—everywhere that Kuroo touches. Keeps it out of his voice when he says, “You don’t have to go out today. Isn’t your paper due Monday? You still have time tomorrow.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll get it done today while you’re at practice. But tomorrow…” Kuroo pulls away, just a bit, just enough that Kiyoomi can look down at him and see his face. His lips, bitten red, and his eyes, a bit too wet for comfort. “Can we just relax tomorrow?”

Kiyoomi nods.  _ Of course _ he does. “Okay. Let’s relax tomorrow.”

Kuroo leans in close again, presses his cheek against Kiyoomi’s skin, and Kiyoomi holds him, even when he falls back asleep.  _ Five more minutes, _ Kiyoomi thinks. They have enough time.

  
  


iii.

Kiyoomi gets Kuroo tickets to all of his games, and Kuroo, as long as he’s available, never misses them. Kiyoomi knows it has nothing to do with him; Kuroo was watching the team’s games even before Kiyoomi became a part of it after all. Still, it’s nice, knowing that Kuroo’s out there in the crowd, cheering for them.

Kuroo's coming today too. Kiyoomi was worried for a while that he'd have to force Kuroo to stay behind and watch the livestream instead, but Kuroo pushed through and studied all week for an exam that Friday just so he could go to Kiyoomi's first game in the Intercollegiate Championship. Even when he isn't playing anymore, Kuroo still cares about volleyball as much as he did before. Maybe even as much as Kiyoomi does.

“Hey, I'm done with the bathroom..”

Kiyoomi looks up, freezes when he sees that Kuroo’s not wearing the usual university shirt he wears to games. Instead, he’s wearing a jersey exactly like Kiyoomi’s. Exactly the same, with the same name and number on his back— Kiyoomi’s name and number.

“What are you wearing?” he says, as if the answer will change now that he's asked. It doesn't, of course, and Kuroo only looks at him over his shoulder, grinning.

“Your jersey! These are hard to get, you know, with you guys winning all the time. I finally got this one in the last batch of orders though, so it’s all good.”

No, Kiyoomi did not know that it was hard to get replica jerseys. He didn't even know Kuroo was looking for one, least of all a replica of his jersey.

Kiyoomi tries to wrap his head around it, and fails for the most part. He sits up on his bed, placing his hand on his knee and squeezing. “Why are you wearing my jersey?”

“Because you’re the MVP,” Kuroo says, and Kiyoomi doesn't know what to do with that, can only stare up at Kuroo, tongue-tied. He's still trying to figure out what to say when Kuroo turns around to face him, one hand on his hip as he tilts his head to the side. “Sakusa. It's because you’re my favorite player.”

“I'm your favorite player,” Kiyoomi repeats, turning the words over in his head. Kuroo has been out of competitive volleyball longer than the two years they played against each other in high school. Even then, it's odd, having someone he played against saying he's their favorite player.

And it's Kuroo saying it… Kiyoomi swallows against the feeling in his chest—the one that's been growing slowly and steadily, now so overwhelming that Kiyoomi's afraid it'll end up suffocating him.

And Kiyoomi… Kiyoomi is suddenly hit with the fact that he doesn't know what to do with himself. Doesn't know what to say or how to act. Somehow, Kuroo saying that Kiyoomi's his favorite player is much harder to brush off than the other things he says, the things he does that make Kiyoomi think  _ maybe.  _

“Did I do something wrong, Sakusa?” Kuroo asks. He steps closer and Kiyoomi freezes, doesn't even breathe. “I can take it off, if you want.”

At that, Kiyoomi stands, crosses the space between them in two steps, and curls a hand around the curve of Kuroo’s shoulder, squeezing.  _ “No. _ No, it’s fine.”

“Are you sure?” 

“I'm sure,” Kiyoomi says, and he leaves no room for doubt in his tone. He smiles, tentative, thinks twice about what to say next before he decides—  _ fuck it. _ He'll let himself pretend, just this once. “You look good. You could've pulled it off, if you still played.”

And Kuroo smiles back at him. “Eh. I like it better like this. I get to wear your number.”

Kiyoomi likes this better too, likes seeing Kuroo with his number. He’s Kuroo’s favorite player, and it probably doesn’t mean anything more than what it is on the surface, but that’s fine. That’s  _ fine. _

  
  


iv.

Kiyoomi wakes up in the middle of the night to the sound of his phone vibrating. He reaches above him where his desk is pushed against the head of his bed, feels around the plastic surface until he finds his phone. He checks it— a call from Kenma.

He presses  _ accept.  _

“Hello?”

A shuffle from the other end of the line, and then,  _ “I just put Kuroo in a taxi back to your apartment. He’s drunk, so take care of him, okay?” _

Sakusa pushes himself up until he’s sitting, rubbing the back of his hand against his eyes to get rid of his lingering dreams. He takes a moment to process Kenma’s words, and then he remembers—Kuroo went out to celebrate a birthday with his high school friends. Kiyoomi left the kitchen light open so Kuroo wouldn’t have to feel bad about turning on the light whenever he got home. Right.

Oh, but— “Is he okay?”

_ “Yeah, he’s fine. It’s just the party and everything. He got carried away,”  _ Kenma says, and that helps, just a bit. It isn’t the first time Kuroo has come home drunk. Kiyoomi’s been around for a lot of birthdays in Kuroo’s circle of friends; at this point, he knows how Kuroo gets at parties after a few drinks. Loud, clumsy, clinging to his friends until he’s forced by those same friends to go home.  _ “Anyway, I sent you the details of his taxi just in case, and I’ve already paid for the trip, so don’t worry about that.” _

Kiyoomi sighs. “Okay. Thank you, Kenma.”

_ “I should be thanking you. You’re the one he’s probably going to puke on later.” _

“Don’t say that,” Kiyoomi says, nose scrunching in distaste. It wouldn’t be the first time Kuroo’s thrown up on him either. “I gotta go. I’ll message you when Kuroo’s here. And message Kuroo when you’re home safe too.”

_ “Alright, thanks again.” _

“Yeah. Bye.”

Kiyoomi drops the call, and then he checks his messages. There are two pictures from Kuroo: the first one a shot of everyone sitting around a table filled with food, probably taken at the start of the night, and the second one is a selfie. Kuroo is flushed red, almost glowing under the lights of the restaurant, and he has a big smile on his face—the one he gets when he seems like he’s  _ really  _ happy. Like when Bokuto calls him, or when Kenma visits, or… or when Kiyoomi lets it slip that he actually  _ likes  _ Kuroo and doesn’t just tolerate him as a roommate.

Kiyoomi saves the second picture, and doesn’t think too much about it. There’s only Kenma’s message other than Kuroo’s, so Kiyoomi stands up, throws on a jacket over his shirt, and goes downstairs to wait in the lobby of their building.

Soon enough, a taxi pulls up in front. The door opens, and Kuroo spills out of it. He manages to close the door and take a few steps as the taxi drives away before he trips over himself onto the concrete sidewalk. Kiyoomi rushes outside, dropping down to one knee beside Kuroo so he can check over him to see if he’s hurt himself. There’s nothing on his hands, nothing on his arms, nothing on his face. Still, Kiyoomi curls a hand against Kuroo’s nape. Still, he bends down until they’re eye-to-eye.

“Are you okay?” he asks, but Kuroo only smiles at him, only wraps his arms around Kiyoomi’s shoulders and presses his cheek against Kiyoomi’s jaw. Kiyoomi holds onto his waist, unsure. “Kuroo?”

“Sakusa,” Kuroo says, the syllables slurred as they come out of his lips. “I missed you.”

Kiyoomi hides his smile in Kuroo’s hair. “You just saw me a few hours ago.”

“Hm. Too long.”

Kiyoomi should pull Kuroo up before he starts dozing off out here on the sidewalk, should get him in bed so he can sleep off the alcohol in his system. He doesn't though. Not yet. He lets the moment stretch until it drags, counts his breaths as he holds Kuroo in his arms and wishes he had an infinity to do just that.

But then he starts to feel the cold biting at his skin, starts to feel Kuroo's weight leaning more and more against him until they almost fall over onto the concrete. Kiyoomi gathers himself up, and then he pulls Kuroo up with him. 

“Come on,” he says. “Let’s get you upstairs.”

  
  


v.

The clock ticks, filling the silence as Kiyoomi waits for Kuroo to come home. There’s a cake sitting on the table with  _ Congratulations!  _ written in red icing across the top and a single striped candle above the writing that Kiyoomi hasn’t lit yet. The cake is for a lot of things—Kuroo finishing his last exam, finishing his last semester. Making it through four years and getting the job he wanted so badly.

Kiyoomi has one year left. Another year, another season. But next year, he’ll have to look out for scouts during his games. Next year, he won’t be walking home with Kuroo after practices, or playing his every game knowing that Kuroo is in the crowd, watching him. He won’t be staying up until the early morning, studying with Kuroo, and he doesn’t even  _ know  _ if he’ll still wake up every weekend with Kuroo still sleeping on the bed across his.

Kiyoomi hears keys jingling, and he stands up, nervous. He has no reason to be, and yet he has to press his sweaty palms against his pants. And yet he feels his heart thumping against his chest, hears the rush of blood in his ears.

The door opens, Kuroo walks in, and Kiyoomi finds himself unable to speak, mouth hanging open. There’s something lodged in his throat, growing even as Kuroo pauses by the fridge, backpack halfway off his shoulders, head tilted to the side.

“Is that cake?” Kiyoomi purses his lips, nods. Kuroo steps closer, crosses the distance between them until he’s within arm’s reach. He leans down, both hands on the edge of the table, eyebrows furrowed. “Congratulations? What for?”

Kiyoomi clenches his hands into fists at his sides, swallows against the pressure in his throat. “You’re graduating soon.”

Kuroo looks up at him, and Kiyoomi sees the way his expression shifts, confusion leaving the curve of his brows and the twist of his mouth. “You got me cake for that?  _ Sakusa.” _

And then Kiyoomi finds himself having to take a step back as Kuroo surges up to hug him. Kuroo’s arms are wrapped around his shoulders, Kuroo’s chin tucked against his neck, Kuroo’s voice in his ear saying, “Thank you.”

Kiyoomi hugs back, and wonders when he’ll get to do this again after Kuroo leaves. “It’s nothing.”

“It’s not  _ nothing,”  _ Kuroo says, pulling away until it’s just his hands on Kiyoomi’s shoulders, until Kiyoomi can only hold onto him by his waist. “It’s really nice of you to do this.”

Kiyoomi tries for a smile, “I should be nice to you. You’re going to be a big shot at the JVA soon.”

“Hey!” Kuroo laughs, his grip around Kiyoomi's shoulders tightening just as his eyes crinkle. “That’s not the only reason you’re nice to me. Admit it.”

“No, it isn’t,” Kiyoomi says. He ducks his head, wanting to say more, trying not to cross a line he’s been avoiding for years. But this feels like it could be the end, if he doesn’t try to do anything. Kiyoomi looks up, “Kuroo?”

“Yeah?”

“I’ll miss you.”

Kuroo’s hands slide from his shoulders down the length of his arms, until Kuroo has Kiyoomi’s hands in his. “Hey. It’s not like work’s going to be all I’m doing. I’ll still come home.”

Kuroo smiles, and Kiyoomi lets himself smile back. “You’re staying here, then?”

“Yes. I'll stay wherever you're staying. It doesn't have to be here.” 

And that is… more than Kiyoomi asked. More than he expected or  _ hoped  _ for, and he doesn’t know what to do with it. Another piece of a puzzle that makes him wonder if it means anything more than what it is on the surface. And before, he would brush it off, bury it deep. He wouldn’t think about it too much. It would be going too far, it would be betrayal of Kuroo’s friendship—that’s what he told himself. That’s what he thought, but now—

“You can't say something like that without meaning it, Kuroo.”

Kiyoomi moves to pull away, but Kuroo holds onto him, and Kiyoomi lets Kuroo keep him there.

“I  _ do  _ mean it,” Kuroo says. “I’ll be your roommate until you get sick of me.”

_ I would never get sick of you,  _ Kiyoomi thinks. He thought he would, thought he’d feel different after a while, a few months, a few  _ years.  _ But he’s still here today, wanting Kuroo.

_ I wish I could get sick of you,  _ Kiyoomi thinks, but that’s not true. Not really, not when Kuroo’s holding onto him just as tightly as he’s holding onto Kuroo. Not when Kuroo’s looking at him like that, like he’s waiting on Kiyoomi’s word to build the rest of his life. Like he wants so badly for Kiyoomi to say yes.

Kiyoomi lets himself unfurl, just a little. If nothing else, he’ll believe the feeling on Kuroo’s skin against his, the feeling of Kuroo’s eyes on him, the feeling of Kuroo’s words washing through him.

“If you really mean it, you’re stuck with me forever.”

Kuroo smiles, bright and wide.

“That sounds good to me.”

**Author's Note:**

> my [twt](https://twitter.com/singeiji)!!


End file.
